


burning in water. drowning in flame.

by hyuckiesboy (Theoo)



Series: call it love [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anorexia, Bittersweet Ending, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorders, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22078078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoo/pseuds/hyuckiesboy
Summary: kim hongjoong loves his boys with every inch of his being. he’s a good leader, that’s what he tells himself every night. he has to believe it.
Relationships: Everyone/Everyone, Kim Hongjoong/Everyone
Series: call it love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589680
Comments: 9
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> writing this has been a bit of a therapeutic experience. this fic has been my baby for almost a month and i’m so excited to contribute to this fandom! atiny fighting. you’re never alone. 
> 
> ! please read tags !  
> this work contains implied/referenced self harm and suicidal thoughts. there is also mentions of anorexia.

its cold. hongjoong’s fingertips turn red. the air burns his lungs and leaves frost to settle on his ribs. he can hear it, the faint sound of his heartbeat. he wonders what would happen if it stopped. who would cry? curiously, he steps closer to the edge of the company building. one leg after the other, he sits and looks down. 

“kim hongjoong!” 

hongjoong turns around. behind him is seonghwa, standing in the stairwell and squinting in the most peculiar way at him. he smiles at the eldest but it feels practiced - all that time in the mirror practicing his best idol-worthy grins. 

“what are you doing up here?” seonghwa asks.

he digs his nails into the concrete, drags them a little, inhales sharply. 

“fresh air,” hongjoong says with a shrug. 

seonghwa walks up to him and carefully puts his hands on hongjoong’s shoulder. it's a planned move, he can tell. seonghwa is worried about him. 

hongjoong looks up at him to try and reassure him but what is the point? he knows. they all know. the eldest returns the smile, delicate features glowing in the setting sun. 

“let’s go inside. the boys are waiting.”

hongjoong nods. although he’s reluctant to leave, he knows seeing his family will put him in a better mood. with a wishful glance over the edge, he gets up and grabs the other’s hand. seonghwa radiates relief as they head back inside. 

in the practice room, everyone crowds around him. there’s words of happiness and praise.

“hyung!” wooyoung screeches before pulling him into a crushing hug.

its suffocating. hongjoong should be grateful, should feel loved as they all kiss him everyone they can reach - his face, his neck, his hands. overwhelming. hongjoong is weak and has let them down far too many times to deserve their kindness. is he even a good leader? 

he wants to cry and push them away but all they want to do is make him feel _good. s_ o he let’s them. hongjoong laughs and kisses them back before seonghwa scolds them all and they start practicing again. 

* * *

being a leader means sacrifice. hongjoong learns that as winter grows closer and their producers grow more strict, demanding nothing but perfection for their comeback. hongjoong hates the winter time. mingi does too, evident by the way he becomes a familiar visitor at night.

hongjoong tries to be a good leader. praise him, make him feel loved, _happy_. the only way he knows to do that is with his body. it starts out innocent with kisses on foreheads and hands interlocked. but mingi isn’t a patient man and soon it becomes hands under shirts and legs tangled together. 

skin on skin, filthy words whispered in ears and moans unrestrained for everyone to hear, bruises in special, hidden places. left for the other’s to find like some kind of gift. 

“are you sure this okay?” a sentence barely whispered yet one hongjoong has heard many times before. he knows what he wants - he’s an adult, not some glass doll. 

“of course.”

hongjoong gives away every piece of his soul and pride to make mingi whole. 

one night, mingi refuses him. clothes come off and hands wander. hands meet something new, rough. it hurts. hongjoong tries to hide. mingi holds him down and checks every part of his body. 

with a firm shake of his head, he says, “no,” and puts hongjoong’s clothes back on. he pretends to sleep when he hears mingi cry. that night, for the first time, they cry together.

word gets out the next day. hongjoong sits in the hallway and listens to the other members talk about him. every whispered word hurts. he should do _better._ yunho finds him in the hallway and wordlessly tucks him into bed. hongjoong doesn’t have the energy to cuddle, instead simply sharing the bed with yunho. eventually the younger boy falls asleep. hongjoong watches him breathe and wonders when the world became so _heavy._ when did he fail them? when did he grow so afraid? _where did it go wrong_?

* * *

hongjoong feels like a poorly kept secret as the days continue. everyone knows. there is no hiding. he is on display but no one wants him - especially mingi, who avoids touching him entirely. despite the glaring undesire mingi feels towards him, he won’t _go away_. 

“hyung, they said no again. it wasn’t good enough.”

not good enough. hongjoong knows those words well. _you’re not special,_ he thinks. though anger burns through his veins, he pats the spot on the couch next to him, an invitation. mingi hesitantly looks at him before sitting down.

“i spent so long writing those lyrics and they said no,” he mumbles.

hongjoong _knows._ the work they produce has to be perfect. he knows that all too well, writing countless albums only to be turned down. not good enough. work harder, hongjoong. fix this, it needs to be improved. except no matter how many times he revised he was always told to _try again._ he knows how mingi feels which is why it's so annoying. 

_i can’t help you. i’m never enough for them either._

mingi fails to see that. how could his perfect hyung ever be flawed?

“you’ve been here since the beginning hyung, they love you,” he tells hongjoong once.

he isn’t the company’s pet just because he’s their first trainee. if anything they expect more from him. 

“we’re telling you this so you’ll improve,” they say.

_bullshit_. hongjoong wishes they would say how they really feel. he wishes mingi would stop looking at him like a kicked dog, his eyes watery and lips begging to be kissed.

but hongjoong is a good leader, so he never turns mingi away. offer his body, all the breath in his lungs so mingi can _breathe_ and he can drown.

hongjoong loves him. which is why it's so hard to see him suffer. 

“mingi,” he says while tilting the other boy’s head up, making him look at his hyung, “you’re good enough.”

mingi shakes his head. he refuses to accept it. but he takes all affection hongjoong has to give. they kiss. mingi’s disgust with him doesn’t hold him back this time. every press of lips comes with whispered praise. mingi needs him and where he was needed, he goes, even if the bitter taste of salt water on his mouth is overwhelming. 

hongjoong drowns. mingi sinks in the ocean with him. it almost feels like home.

* * *

he tries because yeosang tells him too. think of the things that make you happy, yeosang tells him. hongjoong thinks of dancing, being on stage and putting all his energy into his verses. verses that he wrote himself, early mornings in the studio with a cup of coffee between his hands, burning his tongue. seonghwa dragging him home and sitting together in the dark. not speaking, just listening as the boys wake up. blankets rustling, cereal pouring, mumbled good mornings, singing in the shower. 

those moments make him happy. 

yeosang calls him blackbird. in between deliberate touches and drawn-out kisses, he whispers, “ _blackbird.”_

yeosang says they represent intelligence and mystery. they spend most of their time thinking, like hongjoong, he explains. 

usually yeosang is gentle, like a warm spring day or a breath of fresh air. some days he’s the bright side of the sun, hotter, hotter until it burns. on those days yeosang likes to see hongjoong turn red. push him around, put his hands on hongjoong’s neck and see how long he can last before he starts to cry for air. 

other times, yeosang takes the lock off the bathroom door and let’s himself in. hand in hand, shoulders pressed together, he puts the pieces of hongjoong’s heart back into place - strips him naked but doesn’t look, cleans his wounds, new and old, and draws a bath. yeosang just holds him in the warm water and hums comforting melodies. 

in that moment, hongjoong is happy. despite the blood on his legs, he is happy. 

later on, when hongjoong is getting ready for bed, san bursts into the room. seonghwa narrows his eyes from the top bunk.

“i need to talk to hyung,” san says, something balled between his fists. 

seonghwa leaves but not without a suspicious glance towards the pair.

once the two are alone, san ignites. it's almost beautiful, the way he snaps and takes all the frustration and confusion out on hongjoong.

“what the _fuck_ is this hyung,” he spits while throwing the object in his hands on the floor.

its a pair of sweatpants. the ones he was wearing just a few hours ago, stained with blood. he doesn’t answer. he doesn’t need to - san already knows.

hongjoong stands and watches as the younger boy tears through the room, opening drawers and looking under beds. he grabs a small trash bin filled with wasted ideas and not-good-enough lyrics and throws every sharp object he can find inside. hongjoong wants to protest but the words get lost in his heart.

“what are you doing?” yeosang asks sternly, appearing from some unknown corner of the dorm. 

“someone needs to stop this shit!” san’s voice raises and hongjoong flinches. 

yeosang goes to say something but san disappears out of the door before he can finish.

they are falling apart, hongjoong realizes, and it is because he can’t hold himself together. yeosang appears out of the corners of his eyes, wiping away tears hongjoong didn’t even realize existed. 

“go away,” he mumbles. 

“you don’t have to worry, hyung,” yeosang says. 

hongjoong pushes him away.

“you should go find san.”

he does exactly that. yeosang looks at him for a minute and sighs. defeat. the distance between them grows until he's gone, following after san. he takes all of the life in the room with him. hongjoong told him to go away. he doesn’t have any excuse to be mad but he is. yeosang was supposed to look at him and know _go away_ meant _stay please_ \- he was supposed to give hongjoong the answers, read his mind and make him sure.

hongjoong’s bed is a welcome escape from the world outside. seonghwa knocks and begs to be let in. his heart is open for all to see but the door is locked and the sign outside says _stay away._

it's all fear layered on fear. he thinks of all his faults. he thinks of all the people he’s hurt - all the fingers he’s pointed. all a front to hide the _fear._ behind all his twisted logic and beliefs, he is scared. 

ashamed. hongjoong is ashamed of himself. ashamed he doesn’t have the courage to kill himself, ashamed that he can’t be a better leader, ashamed of all the pain he’s caused to the people he loves the most.

hongjoong screams to be let out of the cage he’s built for himself. one made of the ugly contradictories and hypocrisy that is his existence. but the door stays locked.

* * *

san never apologizes. he comes back, though, which is enough. he slips into hongjoong’s bed and holds him. 

“i know you hate me,” san whispers.

he does and he hates it. all he wants is someone to know him better than he knows himself, to be able to read his mind. no one cares. _no one cares._

he wants san to give up on him. he wants to stay this way more than he wants to be happy because then, at least someone has to care. if he’s fixed then who will want to stay? 

it is miserable. it feels exactly like the pain he deserves.

* * *

the sleepless nights in front of the mirror pinching and pulling and weighing become longer. some days the hunger wins and hongjoong takes a bite. some days the hunger doesn’t win, but jongho does. 

their persistent maknae never had a way with words like seonghwa and his endless ocean of wisdom but he did have a way with force. 

when hongjoong passes out during dance practice, jongho is the first one to buy all the snacks in the company vending machine. hongjoong will never eat them but he buys them anyways. 

seonghwa cooks extravagant meals. hongjoong skips dinner on those days. 

jongho comes to his studio with a plate of leftovers, pleading for him to take just one bite. the two argue until jongho’s patience boils over and he pins hongjoong’s wrists down and forces the food in his mouth. he cries and kicks like a petulant child. unwillingingly, he eats. the youngest feeds him more. the morsels of chicken and rice taste like tears and weakness. 

“i’m sorry,” jongho tells him as he makes his hyung _please, stop_ with force alone. hongjoong likes that about him. the boy was afraid of using his strength against his stupid, fragile, _vulnerable_ hyung but he would do it anyways because it was the only way he knew how to help.

what could barely be considered a meal feels like too much. jongho finally lets go of his wrists and hongjoong hits him. tiny fists meet a strong chest. he takes it all out on jongho - their maknae, their precious, innocent, just-wants-to-help, youngest member - all the anger and self hatred and pathetic dreams and broken love. it _hurts,_ it feels like someone his ripping his insides apart, like a vice is squeezing around his stomach. make it go away. empty, empty, _empty._

hongjoong cries. jongho kisses the tears away.

it reminds him of the first time he let jongho take him. hands holding him down. _take it hyung be a good boy._ rough. 

hongjoong doesn’t want to want him, but he does, and it continues to haunt him. he still thinks about the ghost of jongho’s fingertips burning his skin, eating him alive. he never realized how _sick_ he was until he’d had them all, including their squishy-faced, barely legal jongho. 

_“why?”_ hongjoong whimpers.

“because i love you.” 

with a resigned sigh, hongjoong swallows all the fight left in him and stays silent. he doesn’t say it back. saying it makes it real. 

* * *

hongjoong watches wooyoung on stage. he’s passion incarnate. it is beautiful. wooyoung is a firework, full of energy and captivating and powerful. 

behind the firework is a boy. a pretty one, with tan skin and trimmed fingernails and a porcelain heart. the world was made for jung wooyoung. a performer from birth. 

excess eyeshadow and smudged lipstick sprinkles the sink. 

“seonghwa will have a fit if he sees this mess,” hongjoong says.

“beauty is pain,” wooyoung replies, a half joke and a whole truth. 

“you look gorgeous without makeup.” 

he ignores hongjoong and continues to pat concelour into his face. wooyoung looks best with his makeup ruined. mascara smudged, foundation uneven, and lipstick smeared from too rough kisses. hongjoong likes the way it inherently makes him more _human_ . _real._ he needs wooyoung to be flawed, to need him, to bare his deepest insecurities. hongjoong likes feeling like he matters.

wooyoung moans like a whispered secret only for him to hear. he wants to capture those moans like polaroid pictures hidden in a worn wooden box to remind him of what it is like to feel special. 

hongjoong wants to be his reason to live. 

_selfish._

“not too bad,” he hums as he watches his reflection in the mirror.

“perfect,” hongjoong says, kissing his freshly powdered cheek.

in the dawn light, wooyoung looks angelic. he smiles contently, finally at peace with himself if only for a moment. 

hongjoong closes his eyes. feels an ocean that isn’t real beneath his fingertips. the water is cold. he could stand on the warm sands of the beach but he doesn’t. there are crows circling, watching, waiting for the corpse hongjoong will someday be. a feather falls, an inky black rip in the seam of the sky. it lands on his eyelids, like a fleeting brush of lips. 

wooyoung will be fine. he is full of confidence, if only for now. 

hongjoong drowns in envy. 

but the look wooyoung gives him is worth it.

* * *

“i wish you could love yourself,” yunho says. 

hongjoong’s first reaction is to yell. why, is it because his scars are unappealing? maybe it's loathing and self pity. the tendency to cut off people who only want to help is probably the deal breaker.

the anger fizzles out as quick as it came, like a candle in the rain. yunho means well. 

“me too.”

yunho learns he can’t make hongjoong love himself but he could at least try to make him happy. they go to a park.

hongjoong smiles fondly as the other rolls in the grass with a golden retriever. yunho’s constant smile reminds him of the dogs ever present lolling tongue and wagging tail. its endearing. 

at one point, the boy pouts about being alone so hongjoong joins him. the two chase each other around the park. as yunho easily lifts him off the ground and into a tight hug, he allows himself a second to be happy. there are hands on his tiny waist. he wants to lean up and kiss yunho, let him know how important he is with a rough press of lips, but he _can’t_. maybe in another universe, one where he isn’t an idol, he wouldn’t be so afraid to tell the world that he is in love. but he’s an idol. he belongs to the public.

yunho understands, so he grabs hongjoong’s hand and doesn’t let go. it is the most they can do in public. 

they go out to eat after the park. the younger boy smiles and offers a plate. hongjoong doesn’t touch it, opting to sip on water. he apologizes to yunho by brushing knees against each other under the table. 

“it’s okay hyung,” he says. 

“it’s too much. i’m sorry.”

“i understand,” yunho soothes, rubbing his palm against hongjoong’s thigh.

no one makes him feel as pretty as yunho does, who looks at him like he’s the _prettiest._ soon enough they leave, the younger boy sensing his hyung’s uneasiness. hongjoong lets out a breath he never knew he was holding once they’re finally away from the smell of food and into the crisp night air. in the darkness of an unlit sidewalk, away from vigilant eyes, hongjoong leans up and kisses yunho. _thank you._ again, there are hands on his waist, holding him like he’s something precious and delicate. it would feel like home if only six other boys weren't missing. 

they part when they reach the dorm. hongjoong is sad to see him go, but it cannot be helped he supposes. no one was ever meant to stay. hongjoong knows this as he watches yunho jump on the couch next to mingi and jongho. 

“hyung come join us!” 

he looks at their faces. the trio seems to fit together so well. something deep inside hongjoong yearns to join, but he holds himself back. maybe it's because he’s supposed to be a whore and no one cares about a whore. a whore never cares either and that’s _safe._

“hyung is tired,” hongjoong tells them before softly kissing them.

it's pathetic but he allows himself to indulge in their warmth just for a second. 

he _is_ tired but he never falls asleep, instead he listens to seonghwa quietly snore through the night. he wishes his bed wasn’t so empty.

* * *

san doesn’t always understand. the first time he finds hongjoong with a blade, he simply says, “try harder,” and shuts the door. he walks away.

when that happened, hongjoong did try harder. vertically, horizontally, over old and new. he distinctly remembers holding the razor against his neck, wanting so badly to press it down and drag it across his skin but the _fear_ held him back. hongjoong hates san for not taking the razor that day and just killing him himself. 

san struggles to understand, but he tries. rarely do the two see eye to eye but there are _attempts._ despite all their differences, hongjoong is still stuck on him. there are many sides to the building blocks that make up choi san. hongjoong considers all the little information he learns a treasure. he never wants to let go of those moments.

early one morning san surprises him - surprises them all really. 

“hongjoong hyung i’m sorry!” 

the members approach the kitchen carefully, curiously eyeing the demure way san folds his hands as he bows, eyes trained on the ground. 

“sannie?” hongjoong hesitantly asks.

“i hurt you,” he sniffles.

“hyung forgives you,” hongjoong says, pulling the younger boy into a hug, “hyung knows. he forgives you.”

hongjoong really does know. he may not always agree with san but he will _always_ love the boy in his arms. all sides - the ones that lash out in confusion when hongjoong continues to hurt himself, the ones that crumble under stress, the ones that are filled with dimpled smiles and adoring touches, and even the sides he has yet to see - hongjoong will love them all. because choi san tries. 

“you did good today,” seonghwa says as he joins them, kissing the top of san’s head. _i’m proud_ he mouths to hongjoong. 

after practice they all pile onto the living room floor. wooyoung picks some cheesy romance movie, if only to point at the lead characters when they kiss and say its seonghwa and hongjoong hyung. 

when everyone has fallen asleep halfway through the movie except hongjoong and san, the latter climbs into his lap. its almost like falling a little bit in love with each press of his lips on his, fingers crawling over exposed skin and digging into soft flesh. hongjoong goes to take his shirt off but san stops him. 

“just wanna stay like this,” he explains with a shy grin.

hongjoong nods. this is fine. he’s happy to just spend time with san. the little seonghwa in his head tells him that intimacy doesn’t require sex. san wraps his arms around hongjoong’s neck and nestles his head there with a content sigh. they fall asleep.

* * *

seonghwa is thinking. hongjoong can see it on his face as he cleans with a vengeance. it makes him nervous - what’s wrong and how can he fix it? did he cause it?

he lets seonghwa use him. there was a time when their oldest member was gentle, when they were still learning the ropes. they were inexperienced and innocent. after a while seonghwa stopped asking what was okay and what wasn’t and hongjoong never protested, only let him take and take. but seonghwa _gave_ too. he always did. cuddles and cleanup after an intense night, whispered praises and sleepy kisses. always. seonghwa never hurt him in a way hongjoong didn’t want. it's just, sometimes he was _tired_ and didn’t want to fuck.

seonghwa lays next to him once he’s finished, breathing heavily. his body glows with sweat. hongjoong thinks he’s beautiful. ethereal, really. they used to be so innocent. 

“hwa, let's take a shower.”

seonghwa nods, not even caring that hongjoong didn’t use honorifics. usually the elder is the one insisting they shower, his persistent need to keep things neat ever present, but he doesn’t seem urgent to wash up this time. he clings to hongjoong in the bathroom, whining when he pulls away to turn on the water. 

they step inside the shower. the water is warm but he attaches himself to hongjoong’s hip anyways, holding on to him like he radiates something magical. normally seonghwa isn’t fond of skinship but he can’t bring himself to let go. hongjoong washes seonghwa’s hair diligently, gently massaging his scalp and rinsing away all the dirt. he tilts his head back, eyes closed, and hums softly. 

“thank you joongie,” he mumbles.

hongjoong leans up and draws him impossibly closer, hands caressing his cheek. 

“what’s on your mind?”

“i think…” seonghwa grabs his wrists, holds them rather carefully, “i think the sex should stop.”

“stop?”

“just for a little joongie. until you get better.”

“i _am_ better,” hongjoong says, trying to tug his hands out of his hyung’s grasp, but to no avail.

“please don’t push me away,” seonghwa says in that voice of his, begging for the younger boy to just _stay._

he wants to run away but seonghwa needs him and where he is needed, he goes. so he stays.

“does this mean i have to sleep alone now?”

“no, darling, we can cuddle every night if you want.”

park seonghwa. hongjoong looks at him - _really_ looks at him. dusty blue like the early morning sky and a cup of coffee in the winter. dew on blooming flowers. a spark of inspiration. he is all of those things.

the kiss they share is a fleeting, brilliant moment. hongjoong wishes they never had to step outside of the little utopia the two have made in the cramped bathroom, hot water running out.

“that’s good,” hongjoong says.

it _is_. maybe not right now, but he can make it good. the boys will continue to love him even if there is no sex. they _will,_ he has to believe that. 

in bed, fingers walk in hongjoong’s hand. seonghwa teaches him fate. it isn’t easy but perhaps one day he’ll learn. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things get a little better. maybe a little worse. these days, he can’t tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is short but i really wanted to put it out so you guys know this work isn’t dead... this certainly isn’t my best quality but writing fluff is hard :’)
> 
> note: eating disorder and irrational body image for a few paragraphs near the beginning. please eat and take care of your body!! if you have similar thoughts please seek help. i DO NOT condone romanticizing any mental illnesses or eating disorders.

hongjoong decides to try the “being a good hyung” thing.

the sex stops. it's an odd adjustment but not entirely unwelcome. he learns to appreciate the innocent touches and cuddles. at first he feels _repulsive,_ like all the scars on his body have turned him into something unwanted, but they come to a mutual agreement. hongjoong needs this. so every step of the way, they reassure him - even the roughest members who usually love to see him fall apart from filthy words. 

hongjoong misses it sometimes. hewonders if everyone else misses it too. he hopes they miss it. _please miss me_. 

“eat please, hyung,” jonho says, pushing a plate of food in his direction.

hongjoong doesn’t want to eat, he wants to be good enough. _please miss me_. maybe if he lost a few pounds they would miss him. 

“hyung.”

hongjoong looks up. in front of him is a spoonful of kimchi. it feels surreal. it's so easy to take a bite, only takes a few seconds to swallow it down. then why is it so difficult? his body says do it, move forward just a little. it's so easy. but his brain says he doesn’t deserve to eat, that the pain in his stomach is well deserved. hongjoong stays still. it's so easy but _fuck_ jongho makes it complicated when he forces the food down.

something changes. its too much, its too much, _let go of me_ . it feels like he’s dying - he can taste the food on his tongue, can feel it going down his throat. he’s _weak_ , so fucking pathetic he can’t even starve himself without one of the members stopping him. hongjoong gags, begs to throw up in that moment, but jongho prevents him. empty, empty, empty, he _needs_ to be empty. he would throw up every organ in his body if he could, just be skin and bones and count his ribs. one, two, three, four, five, six. the scenery of the kitchen changes. yeosang comes in first, followed by seonghwa. eventually all of the members are there. he should be glad to see them but it feels wrong. this isn’t right - this isn’t want he wants.

yeosang is crouched in front of him now. he barely recalls retreating to the corner of the kitchen. yeosang looks at him, his eyes kind and so warm, a sharp contrast to the cold floor. the yelling is what surprises him. hongjoong can barely make out what they’re saying, but it sounds like they’re arguing about jongho. 

it's all hongjoong’s fault. maybe if he fucking ate for once instead of being so pathetic he wouldn’t have gotten their maknae in trouble. jongho was only trying to help. 

yeosang reaches a hand out but the touch is overwhelming, and suddenly he is thinking of all the times those hands were wrapped around his neck and all the times he liked it and all the times he just wanted a hug. its _too much_. hongjoong backs away until he’s pressed against the kitchen wall and even then there’s not enough space between him and the mess he’s created. hongjoong can still hear them shouting even when he curls in on himself. 

“hyung,” yeosang tries again, which only fails, “ _blackbird_.”

and that’s it - that is what brings him back to the ground. yeosang loves him. this isn’t some kind of trick, hongjoong needs to believe that. looking at those glittering fairy eyes remind him to breath. he hiccups for air, coughing a little from his haste. yeosang coaxes hongjoong up and into his arms.

away from their yelling bandmates and safely in bed, yeosang is a soft, perfectly played song as he secures hongjoong under the covers. hongjoong clings to his side and cries a dissonant melody. 

“i’ve got you, hyung. i’m here.”

* * *

things take a strange turn in the dorm after the fight. the air itself feels stagnant and when hongjoong sits still for long enough, he swears he can see dust swirling around. the world feels a little lifeless without the usual laughter between members. 

hongjoong spends most of his time alone. he avoids jongho. he’s mad but more than that, he doesn’t know how to look their maknae in the eye. jongho’s seen him at his most pathetic - sickly skinny and pale with hunger. he’s let them down. its tense. everyone avoids each other until the days drag on into a week. 

“i can’t focus,” wooyoung says when he messes up a step for the second time.

“me neither,” mingi echos.

“we need to talk,” yunho says.

hongjoong watches as the boys gather together in the center of the practice room. that should be _him_. he’s their leader, he should be bringing the group back together. instead he’s hiding, hoping he’ll slip into the darknes. seonghwa glances back as him expectantly and he shuffles a little closer. he’s let them down, he can see it in the way they look at him. hongjoong is scared. san gently drags him into the makeshift circle they’ve made and offers him a reassuring smile. _it’ll be okay._

“i just wanted to make sure hyung was okay,” jongho speaks up.

he looks unusually small even as he plays with his hands, muscles flexing subtly. hongjoong thinks about how holding those hands made him so _happy._ if only he could grasp the reason why it all changed. maybe hongjoong is the reason why.

“we know, baby,” seonghwa soothes, “but it's not the right way to handle things.”

hongjoong drowns in the silence that follows. the atmosphere is too heavy, pressing down on his lungs and refusing to let go. 

“what is the right way to handle it?”

“hyung needs professional help,” san mumbles.

the boys voice their agreements, except for hongjoong. no, _no_ \- he _can’t._ idols don’t need help and he has to be the perfect idol, the prettiest glass doll to be collected and put on a shelf and admired. they don’t _understand._ he’s only existed for the public - hongjoong has never breathed for himself. 

he can't do it. he doesn’t get the chance to tell anyone that. 

they get two months to rest and recover - hongjoong included, who has been banned from the studio until the break is over. to make things worse, he’s been appointed a company therapist who he was to see once a week. 

he doesn’t like his therapist. she seems nice enough but he can never truly be honest with her. how is he supposed to tell her all of the things that go on in the dorm? so he doesn’t. some things are better left avoided.

“what do you hope to gain out of therapy?” she asks.

“i don’t know.”

does it really matter?

mingi is sitting on the couch when hongjoong gets home. it's almost automatic, the way he crawls into mingi’s lap.

“hey hyung. rough day?” 

hongjoong nods.

“thank you for telling me,” mingi says, pulling him closer, “good boy.”

he hums, gripping the front of mingi’s shirt. there’s a gentle heartbeat in his ear. soft and grounding, reminding hongjoong _here_ is where he belongs - their own little dream. it isn’t perfect. for once, he’s glad it isn’t. 

seconds melt into minutes until hongjoong stops keeping track the traditional way and decides to measure the time with the sound of mingi’s heart. 

hongjoong feels so relaxed he could get some much needed sleep, but he doesn’t want to leave. the way they kiss is easy, lips meeting out of habit more than anything. hongjoong loves that he knows his boys so well - that they know _him_ so well. mingi pulls him towards his neck, hands threading through his hair. hongjoong laughs and kisses his neck, tongue poking out a few many times. 

“how do you feel baby?”

“tiny,” hongjoong mumbles. 

maybe even smaller. the universe shrinks until all that’s left is two bodies pressed against each other. it's warm and safe. togetherness is a beautiful thing.

he’s been avoiding it for a long time. what they have is _rare_ and he’s let it slip away. playing catch-up has left him out of breath but he wants to walk more with them, he wants to share more.

more is a scary concept - especially when he realizes he wants more for forever.

* * *

hongjoong can’t let the moment go. the sound of mingi’s breathing lingers. and when the memory wanders he finds himself back in his arms. his presence is a pleasant, familiar thing. hongjoong regrets all the times he turned mingi away when all he needed as comfort. he starts to wonder if he really deserves more, their love and trust and compassion and _forever._ how does he have any right to forever after all the struggle he’s caused? 

“hyung do you need to talk?” san asks.

he’s perched in front of the tv, game controller in his hands. the screen flashes bright colors as he dies.

“i can’t focus when you sulk like that, hyung,” he whines.

“just thinking sannie, don't worry.”

san gets up and trots over to his hyung.

“you know i worry when you get lost in your head,” he says, hugging hongjoong, “lemme distract you.”

“cuddles?”

san smiles, all warm and dimpled. hongjoong wants to lean up and nibble on them. 

“even better hyungie, we’re gonna make a blanket fort!” 

and they do. it's crude, just a few blankets draped over the furniture, but san is adamant about adding fairy lights even if they’re a hassle. it adds to the atmosphere, leaving their little area glowing orange. something about the color reminds him of san. all of his stuffed animals are invited too, including shiber. he lets hongjoong hug him while he lays his head in san’s lap. they’re watching some kind of drama but he doesn’t really pay attention, instead focusing on the way san traces the apples of his cheeks. 

“don’t feel guilty,” san whispers, like it's a secret, “we know you can’t be strong all the time. it's hard to be there for others when you can't be there for yourself.”

“thank you,” hongjoong says softly.

the rest of the night lasts in silence. it's more than enough. hongjoong is content to sit and watch the lights twinkle in san’s eyes.

* * *

things get a little better. maybe a little worse. these days he can’t tell - he can’t tell if he _wants_ to. simply having the thoughts is overwhelming but now he’s expected to deal with them. sort his feelings out. communicate. be able to handle his irrational thoughts. he isn’t ready. he might never be. perhaps that is the scariest part. 

hongjoong finds seonghwa on the roof of the company building. it's late but warmer than it was the last time he was up here. winter has passed, leaving budding blossoms and new beginnings in its wake. he’s almost glad, but in some ways the change is distressing. what comes next?

“hongjoong? what are you doing here?”

he hums and walks a little closer. seonghwa is sitting on some old electrical box. when he first came up, his head was tilted towards the sky. now, he pats the spot next to him for hongjoong, welcoming him.

“i was taking a break from producing, decided to come up here. i thought you went home a few hours ago,” he says with a pout.

“i was waiting for you, idiot.”

hongjoong pecks his cheek. he adores seonghwa, the way he always looks after the boys. he knows no matter what happens to him, he can count on the elder. so often he feels like he was made for seonghwa, for _them,_ and he is. they hold every piece of his heart, except one. he needs to live for himself too. seonghwa taught him that. it is a difficult lesson. he’s still learning. it's never easy, especially lately. 

hongjoong tells him how he feels. the fear. the unknown. the hypocrisy. he isn’t sure if seonghwa understands, but he tells him anyways. it is less about the response. he doesn’t want his hand held, he doesn’t want to be told it’ll be _fine._ he wants a solution. he wants to be fixed. he wants to feel better. he wants to be loved. but he doesn’t want to go through the work of being fixed. something tells him he doesn’t need to be fixed - this is good, this is validation, but the validation isn’t always so sweet. 

hongjoong knows he has two choices. get better or die. that doesn’t make facing himself any less convoluted. 

seonghwa distracts him by pointing out all the visible constellations. he whispers all the names in his ear, lips brushing against his jaw. hands pressed together, he shows hongjoong the universe, all the stars and planets he hung in the sky. the way they glow is almost otherworldly, effulgent in a way that shouldn’t be real. 

“which one is the prettiest?” seonghwa asks.

“you,” hongjoong replies.

he’s almost dizzy from how breathless he feels. the world is resting on his chest. the stars lean against him. the moon sighs. another day passes. the weight of the sky is heavy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave feedback ! 🥺

**Author's Note:**

> please leave kudos and comments! i love constructive criticism


End file.
